Shell
by Zerbinetta
Summary: To avoid falling in love, all you need is to look the other way. The Surana-centered love triangle begins to crack. Part 3 in the Fracture series of linked one-shots: they can stand alone and are each different in genre and theme. Alistair/Surana/Zevran


Despite a busy schedule, I took the time to write the third chapter, which involves some flashbacks. This is getting posted as a separate story as well, since it can be considered a standalone fic. Otherwise, this is the third chapter of Fracture, after the eponymous first one and Mending, chapter 2.

**o.O.o**

**Shell**

**o.O.o**

In retrospect, it had all begun with a failed assassination attempt; certainly not the best start for any kind of long-term relationship.

"I could also stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors, yes?"

Leliana raised her eyebrows, a little taken aback despite her years of moving around Orlesian nobles. Even there, where ladies could sometimes go for their potential assassins – against all odds and common sense – such words would be considered brazen when the assassin in question was on the ground in front of a victorious group of adventurers. Next to her, Alistair obviously tensed (she could tell even without looking at him! How easy) and the general attention shifted to their mage-leader, who, inexplicably enough for a sheltered Circle mage, gave a somewhat cool smile.

"I already have a loyal bed-warmer, and he doesn't share."

Said bed-warmer turned out to be the massive mabari hound at her side, who jumped to action without hesitation. However, the split-second before this confusion was cleared up, the templar at her side obviously wondered – with fright, embarrassment and something else which she pinpointed later on – if she was talking about him was something she wasn't soon going to forget.

"Ah." The assassin summarized with just the briefest twitch of a grimace. Morrigan had a relatively good idea what scenario he was likely picturing and hoped just a little bit that Alistair would realize this (not that there was much chance of that) for amusement's sake. "What a shame. I will simply have to redouble my efforts."

"I do hope you aren't considering this unnecessary mercy you are fond of, Nimue." the witch said instead, finding another good way to push some buttons without seeming overly obvious. "T'would be foolhardy to let him go."

"Surely you cannot be suggesting slaying a defenseless opponent, Morrigan?" Leliana asked, not so scandalized by the notion anymore, though still appalled by it.

The witch barely resisted rolling her eyes. "Do not be surprised when your naïve belief in allowing people who tried to kill you live one day stabs you in the back."

"Having two such dazzling beauties fight over me so early in the day… surely this is a sign that my luck is turning."

Even Leliana's eyes hardened by a fraction when aimed at the assassin, but it was Morrigan who glared hardest. "I would also suggest cutting out his tongue and making him eat it while you decide." she added to Nimue, her face suggesting that she was already thinking up several ways to achieve that end.

Surprisingly, she was rewarded with a mischievous grin.

"Ruthless and alluring. What a deliciously tempting combination."

What was alarming, though, was the slightest change in Nimue's expression; Alistair had learned to recognize it. He himself had often seen the moment when a jest or situation broke through the carefully-constructed barriers intended to protect her from the outside world (very much foreign to her) and to make her seem more confident than she actually was (and, considering that she had been fascinated with the concept of money when they found some, this wasn't insignificant). At a few fortunate instances, he was the one who managed to break this shield – the fact that it had emerged after Ostagar and not before helped – and so seeing her eyes almost smile was Entirely Surprising and most certainly Not Good At All when it was directed at someone such as this… man.

"We should get moving, Nimue." he suggested quietly, caressing the name somewhat. Morrigan was no doubt going to taunt him about his male ego being threatened by seeing Nimue react in any positive manner to a man other than him, but it was worth Getting Out of Here, now. At least there was a pretext for it. "Redcliffe won't remain safe for very long if we don't bring the mages."

But she isn't listening, not the way she normally would, the possibilities circling in her mind. Normally, she asked for opinions and tried to compromise a solution that was to everyone's liking.

"Now, now, it's impolite to interrupt while the lady is deciding." Alistair most definitely didn't like the way the elf tsked at him. Scratch that, he didn't like the elf, period.

The Like-Dislike meter hit the bottom when Nimue's magic burned through the rope binding their hostage.

"I believe in second chances."she said, her voice firm. There would be no further chance, that tone implied. Still, the moment when Irving had expressed his disappointment in her for helping Jowan and the instant when she knew the templars were going to judge her flashed before her eyes.

"What?! You're taking the assassin with us now?!"

And perhaps it was indeed illogical and foolish, but, in her mind at the time, still distrustful of the world, the presence of an assassin was relatively on the same fear-factor level as that of a templar. If she had learned to accept – and like – the latter, others could learn to deal with the former, assuming she wasn't being too trusting and naïve.

"Killing him serves no purpose and letting him go is out of the question." she reasoned instead, glancing at the distrustful Alistair. That they couldn't be picky in the face of annihilation and look a gift assassin (hah) in the mouth was something that went unsaid. "If you wish him dead, you are free to do so yourself."

Alistair almost reconsidered his reluctant acceptance of this fact when the assassin stood far too close to Nimue and held the hand that had pulled him up much longer than necessary. The question of whether or not he would have reconsidered if he had known what was to happen was something he would come to prefer not to think about.

**o.O.o**

"_Then why are we still talking?" And there is no teasing behind the words, no fending off the question she doesn't yet want to answer, no later or maybe or perhaps but yes, now, I do, I want, I will._

_Whichever it is doesn't really matter. Any is valid enough a reason for his lips to twist into the slightly too wide smile, filled with many promises, none which someone who wishes for a life of peace or normalcy would look forward to. But she isn't normal or peaceful, not any longer, never was, perhaps. _

_His hands claim whichever part of the welcoming body in front of him is closest, moving along the tastefully cut fabric (meaning to his tastes), already plotting how to discard it, delving into the fragrant mass of her hair (this he knows, because he's often been close to her to confirm it – but not close enough, every sense is screaming now). _

"_Now that, my dear, is a most valid question."_

_And she is his entirely for a few instants as they kiss__ and kiss and kiss as the world of right and wrong comes crashing down around them… _

**o.O.o**

Very little changed on the whole. Nimue preferred it that way; this had been one of the reasons for her ultimate decision. There was no need to worry about what might be if something happened, what the outcome would be and how someone would react to it. And, most importantly, as long as she refused to allow deep affection - love, even – to enter the picture, she could remain unbiased and focused on their tasks. Love was the emotion she really didn't understand, because she had never felt it towards anyone but her mother, and that was now just a word towards which the feeling had connection. Even when Jowan had proclaimed his love for Lily, she hadn't understood it, not truly.

It was much too irrational not to lead to bad decisions. But still she had helped the two of them, leading to this situation. In a way, that actually supported her own argument.

Still, there was another side to things. She was more relaxed than before, having grown used to the outside world now… and, with an effective outlet of any primal urges and frustrations she might have, the odd feelings she sometimes had around Alistair were beginning to subside somewhat. For that, she was glad, despite this being a slow process.

"Perhaps you have a little more sense than I thought, if you indeed find those venom extracts so amusing."

Morrigan was approaching, quiet as a cat in the wilderness, her face impassive but with the ever-present hint of a sneer. This wasn't an entirely unsurprising development, considering that the swamp witch believed most of their entourage to be fools far below her notice, but she usually had a valid reason for speaking even to Nimue. The elf only glanced up before returning to her potion-making. Nothing she could say would drive Morrigan off before she made her point, so she might as well make conversation.

"Yes, poison always cheers me up." she said brightly, squinting a little when a little steam came from the ingredients she added to the small pot over a controlled magical fire. "To what do I owe being graced with your presence? I thought you were busy studying the grimoire."

The witch ignored that remark, sitting down opposite Nimue with a studious expression. "'Tis somewhat irritating watching you smile so all the time, so I decided to tell you about it." she noted with a shrug. The elf blinked. She hadn't been aware of smiling very visibly, but then again, her good mood had to manifest itself somehow. It was a bit embarrassing, since others might draw conclusions. If they hadn't already. "In any case, you are the rare kind of person offering intelligent conversation among this band of idiots you seem to have an affinity for. I truly understand little as to why you put up with such nonsense, but I suppose having pawns to sacrifice is a useful thing in your line of work."

That was such a Morrigan thing to say; it was one of the things Nimue had become used to over the passing months, such as Oghren's drunken propositioning or Alistair's goofy jokes. But it was also an empty phrase.

"You didn't come over here just to point that out, I believe."

Thin lips curled wryly. "Indeed not, for you know that already. I want to ask what you hope to achieve by this… fraternization, shall we call it?" Morrigan settled for a politer word than she was likely thinking, which was a sign of friendship from her. "I don't really think you naïve enough to believe that simply sleeping with your would-be assassin would secure his loyalties." Now there was the bluntness tempered by years of living alone with a mother who was an ancient abomination with a penchant for cryptic hints. Nimue looked up, her eyes a little wide. Here she had thought this dalliance wasn't entirely obvious. "Were he an imbecile like Alistair, then maybe, but he's a different kind of idiot." the witch continued.

"Why are you so quick to pin it down as some sort of plot?" the elf said after a moment, tilting her head in interest. Maybe Morrigan was giving her a bit too much credit, which wasn't entirely good, because then she would have to live up to these expectations. "I'm – well, not only human, as the saying goes, but I'm a person with feelings and needs too."

"Aaah, now that is a different perspective." Morrigan's unnaturally-colored eyes seemed to glitter when she was satisfied with something. "The trapped bird has flown out of its cage at long last and isn't shrinking away from the world. An interesting way to break ties with the past… and I imagine you've had enough of templars pining after you for a while."

Cullen, caged and desperate, calling her an illusion. Admitting the infatuation she had mistakenly considered something frivolous. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who sometimes thought she saw a reflection of a past before this in Alistair.

"Why the sudden concern?" Nimue decided to change the angle of the discussion for her own benefit. "I thought you weren't interested."

Morrigan gave her the second best from her arsenal of flat looks, but the elf knew better than to totally buy it. She still remembered the moment when Zevran had managed to win a secret bet with Alistair about managing to make the witch crack under his flattery.

"You are taking quite a considerable risk… and it is within my interest to assure that you remain alive." Morrigan noted carefully. She didn't mention the reasons for the interest or any kinship she might feel towards the mage. Right now, she intended to confront foolishness. "The Blight might win otherwise, because I would be forced to slay the single remaining Grey Warden in Ferelden, were you to die. Though perhaps this revelation will serve to at least silence him." she mused, intrigued by the idea for a moment.

"I don't under-"

Of _course_ she didn't, blind to clumsy flirtations as she was.

"The dim-witted fool is in love with you." To her credit, Nimue didn't appear startled by the statement of Morrigan's flat tone. "I very much doubt that you didn't suspect that, at the very least. Subtlety is a foreign word for him, along with many others. And he will find out, even if you choose not to tell him." Though of course it was entirely plausible that he knew, but was choosing to ignore reality in favor of a delusion that late night visits to Nimue's tent involved tea and cookies. Not that unlikely, considering how sainted the other Warden was in Alistair's eyes. "T'would be more merciful, perhaps, to be blunt with him. Lest he torment us all with another round of brooding silence."

Nimue knew well that any attempt to convince the witch to be nicer to Alistair or spare him any measure of taunts would be quite futile. "I'll tell him." she said instead. The problem was, she didn't really know how.

"Sooner would be better than later, I think." Morrigan appeared satisfied nonetheless. "T'will be somewhat awkward for you, should Alistair suppose that you are being attacked in the night and burst in to protect you."

The elf had the decency to flush. Morrigan idly wondered if it was because of actual embarrassment or the realization that Zevran would likely not mind one bit. "Yes, that's… that's a good point."

**o.O.o**

There were few things in the world that – in Zevran's opinion, at least – surpassed waking up next to a beautiful woman. Lying awake with one that was most fortuitously devoid of clothing certainly qualified. Finding out from an off-hand comment that the aforementioned woman had been chaste up to less than a day ago was perhaps one of the best examples, especially considering the rather interesting past hour or so. Apparently, either the Circle had a _very _extensive library or Wynne had been lying about the lack of moonlight sessions atop the tower.

Both was probable, most likely. Surprising even herself, Nimue wasn't hurt or offended by her lover's later proclamation that them ending up in bed together had been inevitable from the very first moment. Now that she was familiar with the notion and understood why some people chose to practice it regularly – she wouldn't admit it if she could get away with it, but Zevran hadn't been purely boasting when trying to convince her that she wouldn't be disappointed – it was possible to come to terms with where they might go from this point and what to accept.

Neither brought forth useless complications such as love.

"Do your powers of divination work on other things as well?" Nimue asked instead, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. It wasn't probable, but it never hurt to ask. "Because that would be most helpful."

Considering the way a hand was snaking its way around her breasts, she could guess the answer. "Hmm, I seem to be able to predict that your desire to learn is in no way sated and wish to find out more about what you have been missing all these years."

"I'll consider that a no."

"Ah, but the divination is correct nonetheless, am I right? You certainly are a delight to teach, in any case…such enthusiasm." Which was the slightest bit surprising, considering how skillfully she had been evading giving any kind of definite answer to the suggestion of sex before the sudden change of mind. "Were all your fellow mages so unattractive, I wonder? Not that I am ungrateful for all of these pent up frustrations of yours that obviously needed relieving."

"My studies were my priority." Now _that_ was a most interesting answer, with so many ways to interpret it. "Meaning books, Zevran, so don't give me that look."

The assassin gave a small grin of mischief, idly brushing some hair out of her pale face. While his budding assassin career might have been ruined by this failure, it certainly helped that his target – though of a different kind now – was pleasing to look at. And a quick learner.

"Such a shame… for them, at least." He might actually consider the whole thing a great success even if this remained his only personal victory throughout this quest. "Smiling makes you look much lovelier, my dear, you shouldn't frown so much." That frown was the distinction between the Grey Warden who led them through battle upon battle and the vivacious woman who had finally succumbed to his charm (whether she saw it like this was debatable). "It wounds me that I don't appear to have cheered you up sufficiently… shall we give it another try perhaps?" He'd have to remember to thank Leliana for those delectable robes – now discarded, as planned – which had revealed her most agreeable legs to the world. Stockings or no, they were entirely pleasing to the eye and to the touch, as he was now confirming.

"I'm just wondering how I should break this down to Alistair, that's all."

Ah, the problem had reared its ugly head.

It was somewhat disappointing to see that despite (or because of) what was without a doubt satisfying sex, Nimue was concerned about hurting someone else. In a way, this was understandable, of course; Alistair was an attractive man who made no effort of hiding his affection towards the mage, especially since he apparently didn't have the wit to pull it off. And – what Nimue might not yet have realized and Zevran certainly wasn't going to point out to her – there were ways around the entire "bastard prince can't be with an elven mage because he has to become king" problem. Such as winning over the current queen, who had to at least partly see that her father was leading them all to ruin.

However, while Zevran had no burning need to step aside and throw his rather hard-won prize to a man who might not fully… _appreciate_ her, bringing uncertainty to this arrangement would only complicate things. It was best to make at least a few decision now, while there was still time to amend things, if need be.

"Well, that would depend on what message you wish to convey. Allow me to make it simple for you, my Nimue." Ironically, this was the moment the Warden truly seemed to begin paying attention, though that could be due to Zevran's frequent (and unashamed) usage of many other endearments on varying degrees of the Sickeningly Sweet vs. Likable but Lewd scale. "What happens now is entirely your choice. While I certainly wouldn't mind continuing our little dalliance, I make no claims upon you, nor would I dream of such."

This was the point where one expected the lady to return to her prim and proper façade, ask that they consider this a one-time thing and progress as they were. Keep this a dirty little secret that is to be swept under the rug – and, should the Quest for True Love fail, possibly resume with the decadent adventure.

"I know. That's why I want you."

Nimue had always been one to defy expectations. Her voice was entirely resolute and she hesitated for no more than a blink of an eye. For that matter, her own eyes were warmer now, the positive energy she kept hidden as a power reserve surfacing when her intentions and personality were laid bare.

Through years of training, Zevran was able to cover up the moment he was taken aback with a deep chuckle. "Just because of that?" While the teasing hurt voice wasn't likely to work on her, roaming hands and burning kisses along her exposed neck might. "You certainly know how to stomp a man's pride."

"I'm not saying anything." But her voice was highly breathy and it seemed surprising that she even managed to get out that much, with the way her eyes drowsily fluttered shut and she let out a breath.

"Let's see if I can convince you, then…" Zevran suggested, taking away choice and consequence both to once again fully reshape their meaning.

**o.O.o**

Cooking was a peculiar but fascinating process.

To Nimue, who had spent her life eating in a gigantic dining hall where the finished food magically appeared on your place when you wished for it, having to create your own meal over a campfire was something most interesting. The process of meat being cooked without magic alone was worth a study, but the true wonders were those of making your own tea, creating your own soup and actually seeing how a series of ingredients balanced each other out. In a way, adding ingredients to a stew was akin to leading her ragtag bunch of misfits; one simply had to know which piece complimented the other and arrange them accordingly.

Thank goodness she hadn't allowed Alistair to try and teach her the "traditional Ferelden dishes", though; several months into the journey, it was obvious that templars might be skilled in many uncomfortable techniques, such as standing stock still for hours, scowling without moving their muscles and wearing most peculiar star-spangled (or so it appeared) purple skirts (most were in agreement on that account), cooking wasn't part of their training.

Which was why she had invested in an Orlesian cookbook, of all things, that Bodahn had somehow found near Lothering. Wonders would never cease. True, they couldn't make Sten's favorite cookies in the wilderness, but the Orlesians had some alternatives to that. If there was one thing that Alistair had gotten right, though, it was that Orlesian food was highly pretentious. Getting half the ingredients on the list was a major success, and that was with a skilled herbalist as their cook of the night.

"How is the leg doing?"

Most of the others usually left Nimue alone while she was cooking – they knew the food could turn out a disaster if she was distracted from her book, after all – but every rule had its exception; if there was any companion in whose presence the elf dropped any acquired mannerisms or tasks, it was Wynne.

Running a hand along the length of the former fracture, Nimue smiled. It had been some time since the healing and though she could sometimes feel it be sensitive to especially tough terrain or rapid weather changes, it was as good as new.

"Very well, and thanks again for mending it. I really don't know what I'd do without you, Wynne." she added earnestly. There was also another reason why she appreciated the senior enchanter's presence – she was a counterbalance to Morrigan, something familiar in this entirely new world she was moving through, even after she had gotten used to things like haggling and cooking your own food and having a giant mabari warhound.

"The bones wouldn't grow together properly and you'd most likely end up with a limp. Or, to prevent that, you would have to be carried around like a child." Wynne summarized readily. Her smile faltered just a little bit afterwards. "I suppose some wouldn't object too severely to that, though."

The elf didn't have to check to make certain where Wynne's eyes strayed for a second. After being confronted by Morrigan, she wasn't entirely unprepared for this. Besides, Wynne seemed to consider herself honor-bound to remain her advisor and mentor, even in matters such as these.

"You surprise me, Nimue." she noted, studying the mage, who had looked away for a moment. "Here I thought you and Alistair… and suddenly you turn around and make a rather reckless choice. I certainly wasn't expecting that of you."

"You know about-?"

"Oh, please." Wynne rolled her eyes. She had known for the better part of the last two weeks, but there had been no opportunity to catch Nimue alone, least of all to speak to her about an issue so frivolous in comparison to their trek through Orzammar. "Even if I wasn't a light sleeper, all the self-satisfaction Zevran has been showing would be most difficult to miss. Besides, he actually missed several chances to annoy Leliana and myself, so fixated he was on you. Dare I say that he isn't planning on this being a one-time occurrence?" she asked when Nimue made no reply, determinedly checking the pot. There was much evidence to the contrary, anyway.

Oghren kept reminding them all of that with hints that had left the girl studying her gloves with such intense interest that her eyes could have almost burned through them. It was actually a wonder that Alistair hadn't caught on yet; Wynne had chosen not to say anything out of kindness, hoping that this would be resolved between Nimue and him, and the others had remained tight-lipped about the issue for their own various reasons (even Oghren didn't go beyond the nudge-nudge-wink-wink gestures that were remarkably subtle for someone so intoxicated).

"There is no plan, not that I know of." Wynne bit back a sigh. Of all the things to try to be reasonable about, this was what Nimue fumbled in. Maker knew that Alistair wouldn't leave because of this – though he would no doubt take it badly – but she was a bit worried that the girl hadn't set any kind of boundaries and just plunged into things. It was unlike her. "We just… I know you disapprove of this, but I have my reasons." she said, noticing and misinterpreting the chiding look she was receiving.

"You don't need to justify yourself to me." Though, admittedly, Wynne was interested in the motive for this sudden change.

"No, I do. I care about your opinion." And because Wynne was a master of the look Irving could give a disobedient apprentice; the look that said that he wouldn't take any action against them, but that he wasn't happy with the way things were turning out. "You said to me yourself that Alistair might become the King of Ferelden. And I thought about that, because I know he doesn't want it. Grey Wardens are outlaws now without the support of the monarchy." All facts. "And if we intend to challenge Loghain's claim to said monarchy, we need someone with a claim to the throne, stronger than that of the queen. Be it Arl Eamon if we cure him or Bann Teagan – someone is going to suggest this… and Alistair…" Here, Nimue signed, having predicted the reaction in advance. "He is far too dutiful to refuse. You fill in the gaps."

This surprised Wynne, but also put her a little at ease. It showed that Nimue was planning ahead, or at least attempting to formulate some sort of strategy for the future. Whether she realized any other tactical impacts of her decisions was questionable, but it was peculiar to see that she was able to predict a plausible political plan of action ahead of time when she still remained fascinated by things such as the production of cheese without magic.

"You have based your entire decision on a future that might not be." But very likely would be, Wynne could admit. All those history books in the Circle's library had been good for something, she guessed. "Interesting… and also somewhat true. This wasn't exactly what I meant when I cautioned you about duty, but it does make sense." She saw it now: Nimue was disillusioned. After being betrayed by her best friend, cast off by the Circle and forsworn by a man she knew had cared for her because of what she was, the elf had very few expectations about her own future. "Alistair cares for you deeply, but no one would accept a queen who is an elf, a mage, a Grey Warden and a commoner to boot.

Nimue's head snapped up, into rapt attention, as if Wynne had suggested that they invite the archdemon to a tea party to settle their differences and play some board games. "That possibility never even crossed my mind." She seemed frightened of anyone even suggesting this, which she firmly chose to ignore. Of course she wouldn't consider it, because it wasn't possible.

"It didn't?" Wynne called that a lie, at worst, a denial, at best, but looked at the younger woman with kindness. "Either you are more selfless than you admit, or you have less ambition than I supposed."

"No, I just… I don't want another cage. I don't want to spend the rest of my life – be it long or short – trapped somewhere. Be it a fortress or… or something intangible."

_A gilded cage… pretty, but confining…_

And arms wrapped around her, pulling her close without the intention of imprisoning her, making her feel safe and strong and free…

"Ah. You care for him as well. I see."

The fantasy ended very quickly, as did the fleeting ludicrous image of what Wynne had suggested.

"All I want to say is that I know what I'm doing and… it's for the best." Nimue tried to project an air of finality with that statement. This attempt to move on before she crashed into complications that were a solid rock wall blocking that path was proving relatively effective and she didn't want to ruin it.

"Perhaps I can agree with that justification, but it still doesn't explain why you would choose to start a relationship with a man who tried to kill you and quite obviously wants only one thing from you."

The elf shrugged. "Well, it simplifies things, doesn't it?"

"There's no need to be flippant." This was one of the negative aspects of spending time in the company of those who used this defense mechanism – Nimue was picking it up rather effectively. "I'd just like to caution you against something you might come to regret."

"It's a little too late for regret now." the elf pointed out, stirring the pot in an almost blasé fashion. The concept of intimacy no longer frightened her, now that she was entirely familiar with it, and as long as things remained as they were, she didn't really see a reason for such sentiment.

"No, child. I mean that it might not be as easy for you to detach yourself from a purely sexual relationship. You form attachments quite easily, if your companions are anything to judge by. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

The masque cracked a little with a sigh and a brief glance down. "Wynne, you know as well as I that mages cannot expect happily ever afters with marriage or children." She spoke much more quietly when she said that, with a kind of resigned acceptance. "I've already given up much. Don't ask me to give up everything. Because I won't."

Determination and decisiveness was returning. "I only wish to caution you, Nimue. Perhaps you are not destined to be royalty, but you are the one leading us against this Blight. What you do affects people's perceptions."

"You'd think that with the darkspawn invasion, Loghain wiping out the Ferelden Wardens and the individual problems of our potential allies, my non-existent love life wouldn't be the focus of people's opinions." the young mage muttered to her warhound, who was approaching the smell of her cooking warily, the elf stirring the pot with newfound gusto.


End file.
